Prince of the Wild: Story of the Son of Buck
by BlueMoonHowler
Summary: This is the story of Keero, Son of Buck of Jack London's Call of the Wild Which I do not own and his struggle as a fatherless half breed after being captured by humans as a pup and heeding to the Call to take his place in the Wild.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Jack London's characters, or his story. Or anyone else's ideas I may use in the process of writing MY story. **

**Prince of the Wild**

**The story of Keero, Son of Buck**

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Wind whispered through the trees and the warm sun shone thinly across the great lands in the north on the day that bore Buck, King of the Wild, into his final journey, to his death. On that same day, small and dark, with closed eyes and ears and little pink paw pads, were born the last liter of pups to be sired by the great Ghost Dog, a litter of three females and one male. Buried with their mother in their den underground, they were never to know their father.

Buck, strong and cunning and brave to the last, left to visit the low valley, where his beloved Thornton had lost his life as he did whenever the mood struck him to do so. Unlike his other visits to the valley, which had always remained empty, there was a strange yet familiar scent on the wind. He smelled other dogs. He smelled humans. That smell brought it all back, all the pain and that hollow ache he'd buried beneath layers of pride and the will to live on. Tracing the scent through his valley, unaware of the goings on of his mate and the rest of his pack, including his wild brother, his anger grewand the growl rose in his throat, the fur on his neck and shoulders raising with it. Finally as the sun grew high, he spotted them. A camp of men and dogs, rather large in size and with more supplies than he'd seen since his stay with Thornton in town. He had no idea what they were up to, but he knew he didn't like it.

Not one bit.

Buck advanced on the camp like a shadow, quelling his rumbling growl and stalking his new prey like the skilled, though aging, hunter he still was.

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Back at the den Buck's mate, called Beset by the Yeehats for her fierce protecting of her pups, panted and growled, her body wracked with contraction and keeping the rest of the pack at bay with more threatening yips and growls. The Yeehat Indians had come across her several times with Buck, the two raiding the Indians camps in winter together and teaching their pups not to fear man by killing him where he stood. She was willing to sacrifice herself for the lives of her pups, and that was tantamount. As she ushered each of them into the world, licking them clean and encouraging them to suckle, Buck was inching closer to his end.

She nosed each pup after her contractions had ended, licking their rear ends and whining happily, proud that she had born so many, and while she was weak now she knew they would all live, unless taken from her by the Wild after they left he den. None of her offspring had yet been still-born, and the pups she'd had by Buck had all grown swift and strong, by and large becoming the largest and strongest of the pack. Buck loved them almost as she did. Now, Beset slept. Each of the pups curled against her swollen teats, napping now after the stressful event of having been born.

The first born, a female of medium brown color, had a swatch of white down her chest like her father, and was already the boldest of the four, pushing the others away while she'd suckled. The second female was also second born, darker and almost black like most other newborn wolves, only with a slice of brown across her ears and tail. The third pup born was the smallest, a feisty fea who looked most like her mother compared to the others, nearly jet black in color.

The last pup to be born, the male, was almost as large as his older sisters, though not quite. Most of his body was golden brown in color, an oddity in itself. His hind quarters were darker than the rest of him, fading nearly to black until his tail, which was the bright tawny of his father. He had the white swatch on his chest as well, and competed well with his oldest sister so far. The five wolves deep underground fell peacefully into slumber.

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The calm breeze that had been passing through the trees in the valley suddenly, making Buck upwind. Realizing this, Buck held his ground just outside the camp, tempting fate. Almost immediately, the dogs staked at the ege of the camp perked their ears and lifted their noses, hackles rising across their shoulders and fierce growls rising in their throats. The closest man, who had taken a break from chopping wood for the fire, reached for his axe. He called to two other disheveled men nearby, who joined him with their tent-stakes and mallets. From the closest tent emerged two more men, better dressed than the others, who told the rest of he man setting camp to keep doing their jobs. Camp must be rasied by nightfall.

The man with the axe moved forward and spoke with the finely dressed men, who walked back to the tent and returned with their rifles. The were determined to be cautious, overcaution if need be; the last time they'd seen the dogs this riled there had been a bear nearby, which was quickly dispatched. The men with the mallets untied the dogs and let them loose. They dove into the underbrush and rushed through the trees, baying and snarling. Buck raised his head and tail, his ears erect and his powerful build tensed and ready. He would not back down; he would fight.

The first of the dogs to break through the bushes was a large Malamute, leanly muscled with a thick coat. Without hesitation, Buck lunged at this stranger, nearly surprising himself with the ease with which he felled the large dog, leaving him to bleed his scarlet life force into the undergrowth while the other dogs caught up just in time to their lead dog fall. They were frenzied, and rushed Buck all at once. If they hadn't attacked him, he might not have killed them all. But they did. And so did he. The pack fell one by one by the tooth and claw of the executioner who was nearly too good at what he does. The last of his attackers fled back toward camp, knowing his fate before even doing so. Buck stalked his prey like he would a rabbit or deer, at the last moment, as the dog rushed into the camp, leaping onto it's back.

The smallish dog let out a screech-like yelp as Buck took it down, continuing to yelp until Buck tore out his throat. Then he heard the men shouting, and there were mallets thrown at him. He dodged them, and rushed the men who held weilded them, but just as he leapt through the air at the throat of his assailant, a shot rang out, and buck found himself on the ground. There was a burning pain in his left shoulder. Buck leapt to his feet anyway, and snarled his displeasure. He turned on the man who had dared to shoot him. He advanced on the man slowly, an angry rumble in his chest and his fangs bared.

The man was arrogant and sur eof his aim, so he stood his ground. He watched Buck and called to the others to stay away, in case this monster dog was Rabid. He slowly raised his rifle to the ready; his partner had handed him the second loaded gun while Buck was down. As he leveled the barrel, Buck leapt on the man, who pulled the trigger. Another shot rang out as Buck registered being thrust backward without being touched, exploding pain, and then, blackness.

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**A/N: So, this is my first installment. Tell me what you think of this Idea, people... I just looked at my bookshelf, sat down and started writing. I like this idea so far, and i have an idea of the plot. If anyone wants to Beta for me, I'd appreciate it. I know this is rather short, but the next chapter will be longer, I promise...**


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